


Coming to Terms

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: One Shot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhodey visits Sam and Steve at their safe house and they discuss the ramifications of the Civil War. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> (Honestly, this is a little plotless.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming to Terms

“What do you want to do?” Sam asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking anywhere but Rhodey. Steve glanced over from the kitchen, as if he could feel Sam’s tension from all the way across the room. Sam managed a weak smile.

“I don’t know, Sam,” Rhodey said, covering his mouth with his hand. Sam made himself look down at his old friend, but he couldn’t read his eyes or tone. “ _You_ invited me over. This wasn’t a pity date, was it?”

Sam frowned. “Come on, man. It’s not like that.”

Rhodey’s eyes crinkled. “I’m messing with you, Sam. You’re a trauma therapist. Why are you so twitchy?”

Sam rolled his eyes and took a step back. “That’s not funny, Rhodes.”

“It’s like that?” Rhodey asked. He wheeled back in his wheelchair until he bumped against the coffee table. “I’m not allowed to have a sense of humor about all this?” He gestured at his legs.

“I just—” Sam sighed and looked over at Steve again, who was very engaged in tossing a salad at the kitchen island, like he couldn’t hear the awkward conversation playing out over here. The pink glow on his neck told another story.

Rhodey looked up at Sam with something like contempt in his eyes, and Sam couldn’t blame him. Sam was really botching this up. He’d done this so many times before. Talked to friends after they lost a limb or an eye or some other casualty of war and he had no idea why this was so hard. Maybe it was because he’d been there. He’d watched Rhodey plummet to the earth and he’d tried so hard to get to him and he hadn’t been enough. And he’d already talked through all this with Steve and Steve did a pretty convincing job of telling him it wasn’t his fault – just like Riley wasn’t his fault, just like Bucky wasn’t Steve’s fault. But, damn, why did people keep falling?

But none of that was on Rhodey. That was Sam’s shit. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Rhodey. I _am_ twitchy. And it’s because I wish this didn’t happen to you. I’m kinda pissed that this happened to you.”

Rhodey nodded. “Yeah, me too. Not all the time, but plenty of the time I’m pissed about it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He folded his arms over his chest and rocked on his heels. “So, do you wanna play Mario Kart while Steve finishes dinner?”

“Steve’s cooking?” Rhodey asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Let’s not worry about that until we have to.”

“I heard that!” Steve called.

Sam set up the Wii and handed Rhodey a remote. They went through a couple races, talking trash and swapping victories pretty evenly. Sam used Baby Daisy, which annoyed Rhodey for reasons he wouldn’t divulge, but whenever Sam won, Rhodey muttered on his breath, “Fucking Baby Daisy.”

About half an hour later, Steve called them into the dining room for dinner. When Rhodey rolled up to the table, he pushed a button on the arm of his chair that raised him to the right level.

Steve whistled. “That’s fancy. Tony?” Sam glanced at Steve in surprise. He hadn’t said Tony’s name since he told Sam what happened up in Siberia.

Rhodey also seemed a little surprised. “Yeah, he’s really gotten into building me stuff. He’s got a suit I can use in case I ever want to be War Machine again.”

Sam popped a wine bottle open and poured himself and Rhodey a few inches of Merlot. “Are you interested in that?” he asked. “Being War Machine again?” He handed Steve the salad bowl.

Rhodey shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Sam assured him.

Rhodey shook his head. “No, you’re probably a better person to talk about it than Tony. He wants me to be War Machine so bad I can see desperation coming off of him like stink lines, but he’s pretending like he doesn’t.”

“Why do you think he wants that?” Steve asked. He twined his fork around a tendril of arugula.

Rhodey smiled sadly. “If he can make me War Machine again, maybe he can stop blaming himself. I don’t know. I think it’s a hero thing to take on as much blame as you can.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Steve. They had had this exact conversation with each other a dozen times, taking turns being on the receiving end of a “not-everything-is-your-fault” speech. They were really good at the speech and not so great at listening to it.

“Part of me wants to tap out of the hero thing. I mean, I can’t walk without the braces or the suit. Maybe Vision knocking me out of the sky was a wake-up call. I’m getting older, and hero work is a young man’s game. I wouldn’t _mind_ a desk job. But then I think about all the vets who’ve come back from overseas with missing limbs or paralysis and they keep on trucking. They climb Mount Everest or they become firefighters. They’re inspiring.”

Sam nodded and Rhodey took a sip of his wine. “You know, I’ve gotten so many letters from kids in wheelchairs saying they’re glad I’m War Machine. That it’s so cool that someone in a wheelchair gets to be hero. And _that’s_ a responsibility. And it’s different from the responsibility of being a black hero in some ways.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, though. I never set out to be an Avenger. I was trying to do the right thing. I was trying to be there for Tony.” He fiddled with the corner of his cloth napkin.

Sam glanced at Steve. “How is he?” he asked, turning to Rhodey. “Tony?”

Rhodey sipped from his glass and the light glinted in the wine, so it looked like he was holding a liquid rubies. “Tony’s dealing,” he finally said. “He and Pepper…” He shook his head and then smiled grimly. “It’s almost a good thing I’m out of commission. It gives him something to focus on.” He swirled the wine and stared at it as he spoke. “I had to get about six hundred dollars of scotch in him before he told me what happened in Siberia.” He looked at Steve and Steve looked away, his jaw tight. “Sounded like a real shit show for everyone,” Rhodey continued. “I’m glad you stopped Tony, Steve. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he’d really killed Bucky.”

Steve swallowed hard and nodded curtly, avoiding Rhodey’s gaze. Sam watched them both, his chest heavy with ache. “

What I did to him—not telling him?” Steve shook his head.

“Hey, man, no one’s perfect. Like I said, it was a shit show for everyone. Honestly, Steve, I’m mad at all of us. Fighting in a parking lot like a bunch of reality TV idiots.” He shook his head. “What happened in Siberia….that was just a lot of pain bubbling up unexpectedly. And it could’ve all been handled a lot better, but we’re humans, so we fuck up.”

“Not our best moment,” Sam agreed. He grabbed the A1 sauce and poured it on his steak, which was a little tough, but pretty damn amazing by Steve’s standards.

Rhodey smiled. “I should be arresting you two.”

Steve nodded, more serious by half. “Thanks for still wanting to be friends after all this. I know it’s probably kinda hard.”

Rhodey shook his head. “We can disagree about the Accords until kingdom come. Just don’t break the law if I’m ever in that suit. And for the love of God, don’t let Ross know I’ve known all along where you’re hiding. I’m breaking all sorts of internal codes right now. I haven’t even told Tony I know where you guys are.”

Sam raised his eyebrows impressed, but neither he nor Steve could ask if Rhodey thought Tony would turn them in given a chance. It wasn’t a question they wanted answered just yet.

Rhodey didn’t seem to notice them not asking. “What are your aliases again?” he asked with a shit-stirring grin. “Pat and Andy?”

Sam laughed, nodding. “Two of the whitest names you ever heard, right? I told Natasha there weren’t any black men in the world named Andy, but she’d already done up the paperwork and she didn’t feel like coming up with new IDs.”

Rhodey grinned. “Antwan. Anthony. André.”  
“Preaching to the choir,” Sam said. “But it’s fine. I’m just the first black Andy.”

“What about me?” Steve said. “Do I look like a Pat?”

Rhodey and Sam both looked at Steve, then each other. “Yes,” they said in perfect unison and cracked up. They laughed hard, a good cleansing laugh, until Steve scowled and grumbled under his breath that he did _not_ look like a goddamn Pat.

Rhodey wiped a tear from his eye. “Tony’s in New York right now. He’s kind of adopted that kid.”

“The one from Queens?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said. “Another project. He’s a lot younger than you’d think. It wasn’t exactly kosher Tony dragging him into the fight.”

“He held his own,” Steve said.

“Yeah, he _survived_ , but his voice hasn’t dropped, yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if puberty is just some distant threat for him.”

“That young?” Sam asked.

Rhodey nodded, chewing his tough steak gallantly.

“I shouldn’t have brought Clint or Scott into it. They’re in hiding with their families now.” Steve shook his head.

“Scott’s on me,” Sam said, nudging Steve’s foot with his own. “Remember how we parceled out blame before? Stop trying to take what’s mine.”

Rhodey smiled. “We sure have got this hero complex down, don’t we?”

Sam and Steve nodded.

“Only it looks like none of us are heroes anymore. I’m in this chair, you guys are in hiding. The Accords certainly did what they set out to do. No unauthorized hero work for us.”

Sam mashed his baked potato with the flat of his fork. “Probably a little bit of good thing. Being Falcon was fun, don’t get me wrong, but I’m alright being Sam again.”

Steve nodded, his eyes a little bright. “And I’m coming to terms with being Steve.”

Rhodey lifted his empty wine glass. “Well, then: To coming to terms with shit.”

“To coming to terms with shit,” Sam and Steve echoed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is some of the most un-proofread content I've ever put on the Internet and I use Twitter. So every mistake is on me and my indefatigable laziness. Anyhow, I'm ready for someone to scream at me ([here](http://samuelwilson-rogers.tumblr.com)) about their post-CW Rhodey headcanons. Please and thank you.


End file.
